


For Sale or Rent By Owner

by deirdre_c



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Brothels, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Toys, Slave Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_c/pseuds/deirdre_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Jensen sold Jared’s ass and one time he didn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Sale or Rent By Owner

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the salt_burn_porn challenge for the prompt: "sex work"

****

Jensen had a reputation as the best slave trader in the Northern Reaches.

He had variety and he had quality, and although he drove a hard bargain, buyers never left dissatisfied, always repeating their custom or sending other nobles his way when friends were in search of a superior class of slave. 

It was high season, with raids taking place almost weekly over the border, which meant Jensen’s newest supply was being wheeled in before he’d barely unloaded the best of the previous lot. A surplus wasn’t great for business—buyers tried to wrestle a discount out of him, plus sheltering and feeding unsold merchandise dug into his bottom line— but he would never turn away the stock he saw in Morgan’s wagon this time as it rolled into to Jensen’s courtyard, past the milling crowd that always formed when there was a delivery.

There were ten, no, twelve captives, and at first glance through the wagon’s arcing iron bars he could initially dismiss a few as fit only for field stock or other labor. But at least five, maybe six, were ripe to be broken in as high-priced bed slaves.

Jensen ticked them off in his mind. The blonde girl with high, tight breasts, definitely. Two other women, both dark-haired and older, but still comely, either a steal for the right buyer. Two lithe young boys—gods be praised, Jensen realized they were actually twins— who could bring him enough to top off his savings for a beach villa on one of the Inner Isles. And then stood up a giant of a man, beautifully formed and muscular, thick-haired and sharp-featured, with shoulders twice the width of those green twins’. Jensen actually stopped his calculations just to drink in the sight of him as he was urged down the wagon’s steps, wearing the manacles on his wrists and the length of chain as lightly as the finest jewelry. He noticed Jensen’s stare and jerked his chin higher, the fierce light in his eyes unmatched by the grim, downward gazes of his comrades.

Screw the villa, Jensen thought. He would use his savings and the earnings from the others in the lot to keep this slave for himself. 

Jensen could imagine watching as his bath servants cleaned him. He’d probably have to be restrained as they shaved and pierced him, but carefully, so as not to mark that golden skin. Jensen would take on the training himself, coming back to his rooms every night to feed the slave chained to his bedpost, no food or drink passing those firm, pink lips that wasn’t taken from Jensen’s hand. Slowly, slowly gaining submission, allowing Jensen to touch, to lick, to fuck, until the slave came to him willingly, his long legs spread wide and long fingers holding his ass open for Jensen’s pleasure.

He was pulled from his reverie by a sharp summons. “Master Ackles!”

It was Consul Lehne. He stepped out of the crowd flanked by two bodyguards and a body slave dressed all in his livery. The guards had whipmark scars across their bare chests and the attendant bore the livid bruises of a recent beating. Jensen suspected he was in the market for another bed slave because those never seemed to survive long in his household. He was not a man to be crossed. “I will give you seven thousand for him.” Lehne pointed straight at Jensen’s choice.

A collective gasp rose from the gathering at the offer of such an exorbitant sum for an unknown, untrained slave. 

It was a testament to the instant allure of the slave that Jensen hesitated—a half-beat probably noticeable only to himself, but there nonetheless— before he said the word to confirm the sale and sever a tie that never was. “Done.”

****

Jensen had a reputation for running the most high-brow and most sinfully wicked brothel in the City.

Now some might say that ‘high-brow’ and ‘wicked’ were a contradiction in terms, but Jensen knew better. He knew that certain men gladly overpaid for status, even the illicit kind— _especially_ the illicit kind— and that all Jensen’s extravagant spending on luxurious décor and free, fine liquor was returned threefold by the crush of aristocratic gentlemen that frolicked and slaked their darker thirsts in his establishment into the wee hours of the morning when their social duties at the evening’s reputable balls and soirees were discharged.

Building something this illustrious and this profitable meant Jensen had to strike hard bargains at times. One of those was sitting right before him in his private office at the moment: young Jared Tristan, Viscount Padalecki, a frequent visitor with insufficient means to keep up with his expensive tastes and an unpaid account with Jensen large enough to finance the King’s coronation. He knew Jared well, was drawn to him, liked him sufficiently to have extended such copious credit. Unfortunately for the young buck— according to Jensen’s unimpeachable sources of gossip— his straight-laced father had already threatened to cut his eldest son off without a penny and raise his younger brother up to heir, rather than pay off further creditors, hangers-on, whores, and scoundrels.

Jared bit his lip like a child. “I have no way to pay you tonight, sir, but if you give me until—”

“My lord,” Jensen cut him off, “I must remind you that I’ve heard this all before, many times. I’m afraid cannot give you another extension.” He saw Jared’s shoulders droop, gave him a second to despair, then baited the hook. “However, we might come to an arrangement where you could perform a small service for me.” 

The boy perked up again at the offer with a grateful glance. “Yes, what is it?”

Jensen leaned back against the polished wood of his desk, tugging unnecessarily at his pristine white cuffs. “As it turns out, I have a group of a dozen gentlemen holding a private party upstairs, as they do most every Saturday night of the Season. Now, these gentlemen have somewhat, shall we say, _peculiar_ tastes. Should you agree to entertain them until dawn—” He looked over to the ornate clock on the mantle, which had just ticked past midnight, he shifted his gaze back to Jared, pinning him in place, “—in the manner of one of my employees, I would be willing to discharge your entire debt, free and clear.”

Jared’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and dismay. “In the manner… By Jove, do I mistake your meaning?”

“No, my lord, I don’t believe you do. I happen to know that you have visited both male and female members of my staff many times in the past, and that you have sat in on such intriguing events as the one going on above us, so you cannot pretend to be entirely scandalized at the proposition.”

“But—but never have I…” his voice dropped to a whisper, as if worried that someone in the brothel might overhear a shocking word, “… _received_. Not from any man, much less a—a group of them.” Jared’s face had turned a charming shade of red, his fingers wringing in his lap, and the temptation rose up in the back of Jensen’s mind, and in his loins, that he could have the Viscount for himself that night, his virgin ass accounted as a private payment, and later balance the books through other means.

But no. Once he started down that road— putting his own desires and comfort ahead of the establishment, mixing business and pleasure— that was the inevitable sordid path to decline. Jensen would never take that risk and stare down the barrel of penury and starvation again.

“It’s this, or I must be forced to contact His Lordship your father directly.” He walked over to a small bar he kept stocked for just such occasions and poured two fingers of brandy. He turned and carried the glass to Jared. “Drink. And decide.”

Jared threw it back like it was nothing. He stared into the empty crystal as if it could make his choice for him. “I’m going to need a lot more of this if I’m going to go through with it,” he said miserably, holding the glass out to Jensen to refill.

Half an hour later, Jared was fortified. Perhaps too much, Jensen thought, as Jared leaned forward in his chair to press his face to Jensen’s belly, murmuring, “I wish it were to be you, not them.” Jensen’s hips twitched forward involuntarily, and Jared took note. He looked up at Jensen with pleading eye that were not to be resisted. But he did not beg for reprieve, instead asking, “Will you not join us, sir? I believe can do it if you are there.”

“I don’t—“

Jared ducked his head again, lower still, and mouthed “Please?” against Jensen’s swelling cock, and Jensen was lost.

He helped Jared stand with gentle hands and started to undo his cravat. “If you insist.”

Jared swayed a moment, then tried to help with the removal of clothing, mostly getting in the way, pawing at his waistcoat, holding onto Jensen’s shoulders and petting his hair as he knelt to undo Jared’s shoes and stockings, until at last he was naked. 

Jensen feared he’d have to catch Jared as he swayed again, but this time Jared was deliberately leaning into the desk, planting his hands more than shoulder-width apart, straddling his legs even wider. He twisted around, entreating Jensen again, “Prepare me?”

This was nothing new to Jensen. And if his hands were shaking, he refused to acknowledge it as he slid open a drawer in the desk and pulled out a small jar of perfumed oil. He dripped a generous amount onto his fingers and circled back around, Jared unmoved from his position, his head dropped down submissively.

Jensen soothed his left hand down the boy’s flank, even as his right slipped down between Jared’s legs, pressing against his tight, furled entrance and caressing it, getting Jared used to the feel before slowly pressing the tip of his finger through the ring of muscle. He bit down on Jared’s shoulder at the same time he breeched him, spreading out the intense sensation, distracting him. Jensen waited like that for long seconds, his hand still, tongue tracing the sting of the bite, feeling Jared tremble against him while he adjusted.

The grip on his finger, just the one, was so achingly tight and hot, Jensen pulled out and reached out for the oil to add more slick. He eased it in as well, crooking his finger, pulling back, adding another, and then three, the soft, wet sound of what he was doing almost drowned out by Jared’s harsh panting. Jensen kept pushing, each time slightly deeper into Jared, a nice easy glide. No rush, even if the men upstairs had to wait all night. 

When Jared’s hips began to jerk back against him, needy, demanding more, Jensen shuddered and opened his eyes, not even realizing he’d closed them. Jared craned around again, looking sex-glazed and hopeful at him.

But Jensen stepped away to wipe his hands.

“Come, my dear,” Jensen said then, drawing a robe across Jared’s shoulders and drawing him toward the door, knowing the sweet nothing wouldn’t be remembered in the morning. “It’s time.”

As they took the stairs together, he was already contemplating how to make the lordships pay dearly for their games with his boy.

****

Jensen had a reputation for offering exceptional, discreet escort services to a discerning, well-heeled clientele.

It had been years since he’d needed to advertise— his people now generating more bookings than they could cover simply by quiet word-of-mouth over cognac in five-star restaurants or Cosmopolitans on the decks of yachts— but Jensen still had his hands full with the mundane logistical tasks of scheduling and supervising, billing and bookkeeping. He didn’t trust anyone else to look after his staff. 

He had twelve people on steady rotation, most of them available by the night or the weekends. By far the most in demand was J.T. Some weeks it seemed like that boy never took a day off.

And, since Jensen had hidden cameras installed in the backs of each of the company’s limos and luxury SUVs, he had a pretty good inkling what made J.T. the star of his line-up. Jensen had collected hours of footage of J.T. down on his knees or leaning across the leather seats, his tongue gliding up the length of a client’s cock, palms spreading thighs wide or a finger carefully broaching their ass. Oh, he’d go down on female clients, too, with just as much gusto and finesse, their panties pushed aside, their lips moaning J.T.’s name as he got his face soaking wet, but— likely surprising no one— Jensen preferred to watch him with the men. 

In fact his favorite recording was from one of J.T.’s newest patrons, Stephen Amell, some random C-list television heartthrob, who after a perfectly decorous dinner and one round of drinks at an exclusive bar in Midtown, chose to be the one who went down on Jared. So in this case, the camera had a lovely view of J.T., his head thrown back as Amell bobbed between his legs. Jensen took note of small things: how J.T. teased his own nipples with his fingernails, how he planted his feet wide on the limo floor to keep from thrusting up into Amell’s mouth, the low string of praise and filth he spoke as he’d stripped off the condom to come on Amell’s face, jizz flowing in sticky spurts from his thick, jerking cock. 

It was the closest thing Jensen had to the real thing.

He'd gotten up the courage once to ask Jared if he ever dated privately, ever dated guys, ever would date _Jensen_. Jared had just smiled sadly and told Jensen that he had personal reasons for needing to make a lot of money in a short amount of time, and that he had to concentrate on his clients. But Jared didn't say no.

That afternoon, Jensen was on his third rewatch of his favorite clips from Jared's dates, having already come twice in his fist, when the phone rang.

“Yes, Mr. Amell, J.T.’s free next Thursday night. Shall I send a car around to pick you up?”

****

Jensen had a reputation as the best porn director in the business.

Part of it was his own twelve-year history on the other side of the camera, part of it was just his innate sense of knowing what turned people on. At least, people who favored gorgeous men fucking each other.

There was a new guy sitting in his office for an interview. How he’d made it past Danneel, the casting director, Jensen wasn’t sure. Fact was, he was old compared to a lot of the applicants Jensen saw trying to break into gay porn, but, then again, he had enough twinks in his stable right now. The guy in front of him was built like a tank and looked like he could throw Jensen over the desk and have dick in him in seconds flat.

It was a good look. 

“So tell me about your experience in adult films.”

“Well,” the guy—Jensen glanced down at the resume and the name Jared stared back— started hesitantly, “not much, to be truthful.”

“And by ‘not much,’ you mean?”

“None.” Jared winced. “But I know I could do whatever you needed me to. Really, I’m a huge fan. I’ve seen every one of your movies, even the internet shorts, and I’ve been in quite a few film productions, both in support and leading roles, just nothing… x-rated.” He was clearly doing his best to be professional, but a hint of color stained his cheeks and Jensen sighed to himself, figuring he was probably wasting time on another novice actor who’d bail after the first shot at trying to sustain a hard-on with a camera up close and personal on his balls.

“And I think you’ll find I’m an enthusiastic bottom.”

Jensen perked up suddenly at that. He’d had this guy pegged—so to speak—as a manly-man’s top. All dick, no hole. And Jensen thought he’d broken himself stereotyping a based on musculature a long time ago.

“Okay,” Jensen said, warming up to the idea, starting to imagine a whole new line of movies with this gigantic guy getting put on his back by a smaller, uber-aggressive, top. He certainly had hair meant for pulling. It all depended if Jared could be any good on screen. “I’ll give you an audition. You up for something right now?”

“Um, I guess.” Jared got up, stripped his shirt off without even a blink, showing off abs that would make an ancient Greek statue jealous, but then stood shifting from foot to foot, not seeming to know what to do with his hands. Jensen thought he could see a bulge starting to form at Jared’s crotch. “Am I doing a scene with someone else?”

“We’ll get around to that eventually,” Jensen replied as he got up to grab the camera on the tripod leaning against the wall behind him. “I’d like to try a little solo work first.” 

He set up the camera, then rummaged around in a large box on his desk, pulling out a hefty, bright purple dildo and a tube of KY. “They’re clean,” Jensen said, tossing them to Jared, who fielded them no problem, one in each hand. Good reflexes are surprisingly sexy, Jensen thought, wondering if he could work that into a picture.

He motioned Jared back into the chair and centered the lens on him, then hit play. He stepped out next to it, in full view. On set, most the crew wouldn’t be hidden behind cameras, and he wanted to see how Jared would behave with an obvious, unfamiliar spectator. 

“Take your jeans off now,” Jensen said, deliberately low and raspy, his best bedroom voice.

Jared did, pulling down the zipper with a nice slow snick-snick-snick, tucking his fingers in his waistband and lifting up his hips to shove down pants and underwear together. And yeah, there was a big, pretty cock, slapping up tight onto Jared’s belly on release. First hurdle leaped brilliantly.

“Hard already, huh?”

“Sorry.” Jared was blushing again. “You know—it’s a Pavlovian thing. I’ve jacked off to your movies so many times that listening to your voice gets me more worked up than most of the guys I’ve actually slept with.”

Jensen smirked. Smart guy. And, truth or flattery, that kind of reaction time was definitely something he could work with.

“Play with yourself a bit. Tell the audience what you like to do, how you get yourself ready to take that toy.”

Without hesitation, Jared slid down a bit in the seat, letting his eyes droop half-shut. “No lube yet, just precome on my fingers, rubbing around, enough to get my hole all smooth, slippery, let it know what’s coming.” Jared propped one heel on the edge of the chair and did what he said, swiping his fingers through the glistening smear on the head of his cock and pushing them down past his shaved-clean balls to slip over his hole, circling it again and again.

Jensen practically broke his teeth clamping his mouth shut to keep his jaw from dropping. Jared had gone from a sweet, earnest wannabe to burning up the screen in nothing flat. Hell, Jensen had seen every gay porn actor on the West Coast naked at some point or the other, and he still felt the back of his neck heating up, a clench of unexpected want in his belly.

“Push inside,” he growled, hoping it sounded in control. “Just one—just let us see how tight you are.”

Jared did. A slight resistance and then the sudden give, the tip of his finger nudging into his hole, and Jensen hoped the mic was picking up the little sounds Jared was making as he curled into his hand like it wasn’t enough. It sure wasn’t enough for Jensen.

“Leave that hand there. Grab the lube with the other. Dribble it all over your hole and your fingers so you can get two more in there, all the way in.”

“Jensen.” The word came dragging out of Jared, convincingly spontaneous, as he spread his legs wider, lifting his hips to push three fingers in, his ass wide and goopy with lube, shiny under the office’s florescent lights. 

“Fuck yeah, Jared. Good boy. Time to fuck yourself with my favorite dildo. I want it to go _deep_ , want it splitting you open. Want you to clench down on it like it’s a real cock in there.” Jensen’s voice came out ragged and almost wrecked, his own cock pressing painfully against his fly, the head clinging damp to his boxers. He watched as Jared scrabbled for the toy, bringing the blunt end up against where his fingers just were, thrusting it inside a little at a time with his head thrown back, groaning through teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“Keep going,” Jensen urged.

“Ah—“ Jared curled his thighs closer to his chest and something inside him gave, so that the last four inches of the thick shaft slid in all at once, like Jared’s body was sucking it in.

“Okay,” Jensen said, heart starting to race, not giving Jared a chance to adjust, wanting more, now. He collected himself just enough to look at the monitor and zoom in to frame a close up of the toy stretching Jared’s hole. “Fuck yourself with it, drag it in and out nice and slow, and tell me how it feels.” 

“So big— god. God, Jensen.” Jared’s fingers were white-knuckled where they gripped the end of the dildo, pumping it in and out of his body a dozen times. He was tossing his head back and forth now, and it should’ve looked cliché as all hell, but instead it was setting Jensen’s nerves on fire. “It’s been awhile, awhile since I’ve been fucked and it’s—it’s almost too much. But, I’m pretending it’s you, and fuck, _fuck_ , Jensen, you’re on top of me, you’re so deep inside me.

Jensen heard himself moan, but thank god it was concealed by the creaking of the chair as Jared moved desperately, muscles of his arm working, sweat at his temples, his cock deep red and stiff, dripping trails onto the flat of his belly. Jensen wondered how long Jared could go like this, but for the first time in a long time he was too impatient to draw it out. 

“Touch yourself and come,” he ordered.

Jared was impatient, too, or at least good at taking direction, because he’d barely wrapped his free hand around his shaft, jerking it short and fast in his fist before he was shooting seconds later with a broken shout. Thick ropey strings spurted up to stripe his bare chest, slow runnels trickling down his stomach to his hips as he gasped for breath. 

His own chest heaving in tandem, Jensen stepped behind the tripod to gather himself, pressing the heel of his hand to his crotch to keep from coming in his goddamn pants at the sight of Jared, fucked-out and flushed, dildo still wedged up his ass.

He continued to fiddle with the camera to give Jared some privacy as he pulled himself together. He heard the wet squelch and the rustle of cloth, and he peeked up in time to see Jared back in his jeans, running his tee through the mess on his chest, wiping it into his smooth skin. The dildo he’d placed carefully on the seat.

“So,” Jensen said briskly, as if he’d never edged anywhere near the brink of orgasm just from watching Jared masturbate. “Let’s post this on our website and see how many hits you get. I’ll pay you our standard one-time fee for this test shoot, and if you get some traction with our fans online, I’ll have someone contact you later in the week about a short-term contract.” 

“But—“ Jared looked stunned as Jensen smiled benignly and put a hand on his shoulder to swiftly usher him to the door. 

“Yeah, that was some great acting,” he said reassuringly. “You’re a natural.”

“But—“ Jared repeated, looking more like a lost kitten every second. 

“Don’t worry, Jared,” Jensen said, opening the door and stepping aside, “I have a feeling it's all going to work out.”

He didn’t even watch Jared walk away, already busy planning the storyboards. But as the issue of casting sprang to mind, and Jensen considered and dismissed a dozen potential tops he might pair with Jared, he began to realize that this might be a perfect opportunity to come out of retirement for one more starring role.

****

Jensen has a reputation for pimping out hookers.

That’s a pretty blunt way to put it, sure, but when a guy owns a bar and tends every night of the week, and the girls and guys working the district nearby are known for hanging out on cold nights, and when Jensen’s known for pointing johns in the right direction and splitting skulls when one of them doesn’t pay up, well. It could be considered pimping by some. Except for how Jensen does it for free.

He’s already set up a couple of dates that night when Genevieve, in her trademark red stilettos and a little dress that hardly counts as clothing, saunters up to the bar with a guy in tow, so at least that’s one less of his crew he has to look out for. 

“Nah, Jen, he’s not buying,” she says, and since when could she read him like a billboard, anyway? “This is Jared, and he’s been down on his luck for awhile. Think you might bring him on, trial-basis and all?”

Jensen takes a better look at this Jared, realizes he’s kind of sweet-faced, college-Joe handsome, for all his height and for all that he looks like he could use a few hot meals and an extra week’s sleep. Jensen’s not sure how many people are cruising for a hook-up with a guy who towers over them, but, he shrugs to himself, you never know, it takes all kinds. Gen gives him a puppy-dog look, and the kid seems like he has one permanently affixed, bangs hanging down over his face, and what the hell.

“Sure. You can even put your bag back here behind the bar for the evening, man.” He jerks his chin toward the far end where the counter lifts up to let staff through—the entire staff currently consisting of Jensen and the daily delivery guys—and watches Jared duck under to toss his duffle into the corner. 

“Thanks, Jensen,” the kid says simply, and his voice is nice, low and mellow and Jensen kind of wants to hear more of it. 

“You ever done this before? Got supplies?”

“No. And yeah.” Jared gives him a lopsided grin, and, oh dear lord, there are dimples. Jensen revises upward his estimates of how much cash Jared’s going to pull in. “Gen gave me a crash course and a dozen condoms.”

“Well, take some of these, too.” Jensen reaches under the bar and snags a handful of tiny packets of lube. “And anybody gives you any trouble, you come let me know. I’ll keep my eye out for likely customers, like I do the rest of them. If you end up sticking around more than a week, I’ll give you my cell number in case of emergencies.”

Jared’s brow furrows, but he stuffs the packets into a back pocket of his low-slung jeans. Jensen can’t tell if he’s wearing them like that on purpose to show off his slim waist and the cut-muscle vees over his sharp hipbones, or if they used to fit him better before he lost some weight. 

At that Jensen shakes off this strange impulse to mother-hen Jared. He doesn’t interfere in the hookers’ lives—much less strangers who just walked up two minutes ago— just helps them out where he can. And speaking of which, a dude bellies up to order a couple of shots and asks Jensen nervously if he knows a girl looking for a good time. Jensen smiles and pours the tequila, nodding firmly in Adrienne’s direction. 

“Really?” the guy says, eyes wide like Jensen’s Santa at Christmas. He takes a long scan up and down Adrienne’s body where she leans up against the old-fashioned jukebox that doesn’t play music but that Jensen doesn’t bother getting rid of. He does one of his shots, taking the other with him.

When Adrienne takes off with the guy, probably to one of the dive motels along their strip, Jared wanders over to take her spot by the jukebox. Maybe he thinks it’s lucky or something. Jensen sees a guy walk that direction, and the hackles on his neck rise. He’s got a lot of tats, knuckles of both hands scarred, could be trouble, shitty for Jared’s first time. 

But the guy walks on by and Jensen’s muscles relax and he realizes he was getting ready to go over there with an excuse to break things up if the guy asked Jared out. What the hell’s gotten into him?

It goes downhill from there. Jared spends a certain amount of the night at the bar, chatting with Jensen. He’s got a sob story, same as a lot of the folks who turn up at Jensen’s, but he doesn’t seem to let it get him down. Jensen cracks a joke and Jared throws his head back to laugh, full-body, and it’s downright addictive to try to pull another one of those beauties out of him. He gives Jared free soda water along with free advice— _Liquor’s no good when you’re working, trust me, messes with your judgment. Drugs are worse._ — and before Jensen knows it, it’s 2a.m., and Jared’s still not even lined up a blow-job back behind the bar. Which is just fine with Jensen, because when he thinks about Jared getting down on his knees on the cold cement, letting one of these douchebags use his mouth like a hole, it makes Jensen see red, angry in a way he only gets when some john tries to stiff one of the girls her fee or think they can slap someone around. 

He tells himself that this is what Jared's signed up for, they all have, that he can only do so much to help without getting dragged down with the rest of them. Nevertheless, later when customers approach Jensen looking for guys, he sends one Matt’s way, and the other to Osric. Both of them need the work, yeah, but Jensen’s not dumb enough to lie to himself about why he did it. 

By the time it’s four and the bar is closing, Jared still sits forlorn on his perch near the till. 

“Wow,” Jared says, almost to himself. “I suck even as a whore. Check that, I _wish_ I could suck, but no one even wants me for that.”

Jensen had packed a sandwich for himself, midnight-snack style. He tosses the bag in front of Jared. 

“I can’t,” Jared says, pushing the bag back toward Jensen.

He takes both Jared’s hands in his and presses them over the bag. “Yes, you can,” he replies.

Jared lifts his face and there’s a glimmer of tears in his eyes, and that’s the straw that breaks Jensen. Doesn’t matter that he’s seen a years-long parade of people come through this bar struggling with hard times— depressed, fucked up, worthy, gorgeous people— he’s determined Jared’s gonna be one who makes it. 

“Quit,” Jensen says impulsively, his hands still cupping Jared’s. “Quit before you start.”

“But what am I going to do?” Jared asks.

“Come work for me. Busboy, dishwasher, deputy bartender, whatever. I make a half-decent living, and I own the place. I can afford a bit. I’ve got an apartment upstairs, you can crash on the couch until you get a little something saved up.” 

Jared’s look is inscrutable, then he shifts up abruptly, leaning over the bar and grabbing Jensen by the back of the neck, hauling him into a kiss. Jared’s lips are soft and warm, and moving lightly against his. The tip of Jensen’s tongue traces a path along Jared’s mouth, and Jared opens, letting him slide in to taste his fill, cinnamon-spicy. Jared thrusts his tongue deep into Jensen in return, and the kiss turns harder, almost desperate, before they break apart.

Jared pulls back only far enough to look Jensen in the eye. “How many?” he demands, serious as a heart attack. “How many hookers around here you’ve slept with? How many customers?” 

“None. Not one,” Jensen swears. And it’s true. He’s been sort of a monk for a long, long time. “Guess you’re the exception to the rule.”

Jared searches his face a second longer, then says, “All night I’ve been watching you, can’t take my eyes off of you. The way you move, your grip on a glass, your hands cutting limes. The way you treat everyone like they’re special. The way you looked out for me. I kept thinking that if a john gave me a chance, I’d just close my eyes and imagine it was you the whole time, and it’d be okay.”

It hits Jensen, and a smile spreads across his face. Jared answers with a grin that lights him up from inside.

“It _will_ be okay,” Jensen says.

“Yeah,” Jared says, slow, like he’s test-driving the notion. 

“You taking me up on my offer?” Jensen’s pretty sure, but he wants Jared to say it, hear confirmation he’s not leaving. He has no idea why it’s become so important to him, he only met Jared hours ago. But it’s there and it’s like he’s never been this certain about something before. 

“Yeah,” he says again. Then he ducks his head, looking shyly up through his hair. “But you sure there’s not a spot in the bed instead of that couch?”

Jensen laughs, pulling Jared into another quick kiss. “Only if you want.” He kisses him again, childish pecks, stupidly fond. “Only if you’re _sure_. The offer stands either way.” 

“I do want.”

Jensen’s certain they look like complete idiots grabbing at each other over three feet of bar, but there’s no one here to see and Jensen doesn’t care anyway. He could do this, just this, forever. But he pulls back as Jared stifles a yawn. 

“You want to go up and see the place? The stairs are in the back hall. I’m almost done here and I can meet you up there in a few minutes.”

“You sure I can’t help you with anything?” Jared asks, but sleep-deprivation has a bill come due and Jensen can see Jared’s on his last legs. 

“Nah. Head up and grab a shower or whatever.” He valiantly suppresses the vivid mental images that come with thinking about Jared in his shower.

Jared’s clearly on the same page, though, if the lascivious glint in his eye is anything to go by. He ducks under the counter and grabs his bag, heading for the stairs. On his way past he asks, “And what should I do with these?” pulling the unused packets of lube out of his pocket and tossing them on the bar. 

Jensen sweeps them aside. “I’ve got better upstairs.” Then he shouts at Jared’s retreating back, “And I don’t plan on sharing!”

He hears Jared laugh echoing again as he calls back, “Don’t worry. I’m all yours!”


End file.
